


Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am

by Selkie_de_Suzie



Series: All That Jazz [2]
Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: 1930'S Nightclub AU, 1930's AU, Cat Callers Get Their Just Desserts, Cat Calling, Chanteuse, Mobster AU, Nightclub AU, Protective Bog, Unwanted groping, butterfly bog, gangster au, mob boss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2015-06-29
Packaged: 2018-04-06 20:02:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4234773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selkie_de_Suzie/pseuds/Selkie_de_Suzie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Marianne is forced to deal with some handsy patrons. Bog - still in severe denial over his growing attraction and feelings for the young Chanteuse - attempts to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wham Bam Thank You Ma'am

**Author's Note:**

> Honey Cooler – 1930’s slang for “kiss”  
> Druisire – Scottish-Gaelic for “lecher”

_“Another bride, another June,  
_ _Another sunny honeymoon…”_

Marianne curled across the piano, the glossy black lacquer of it a becoming contrast to the soft satin shimmer of her deep scarlet gown. Lips that were painted the same lush shade smirked over the club, dangerous and knowing. Her dark eyes flashed, her smoky makeup making them glow like amber, and she drawled out the rest of the seductive tune.

 _“Another season, another reason,  
_ _For makin’ whoopee…”_

Bog finished his drink with a grunt, and then rapped his knuckles on the bar. Another shot of bourbon was quickly slid down to him, and he caught it without looking, his sharp blue eyes fixed on the stage.  _On her…_

Even with his original misgivings, having her perform at his club had proven to be a good investment. Live music was a good way to draw in the crowds during these bleak, dreary times. There was no doubt that Miss Marianne Fairfield could put on a hell of show, the swell of people could attest to that.

There was a sudden crescendo in the usual appreciative murmurs as Marianne gave a particularly sultry purr of a note and arched on the piano top in a way that, if not indecent, certainly was provocative. The move exposed a good length of leg, and a few whistles and catcalls rang out from the audience, and Marianne sent a playful wink in their direction.

Bog scowled. The downside to having more people meant more rowdiness. More importantly, more mugs what didn’t know how to control themselves around dames. He might not be any kind of gentleman what with his type of business, but Bog wouldn’t stand for any kind of randy son of a gun trying to make moves on his employees.

_Dammit, Fairfield, do you have to play with fire so damn much?_

Bog’s scowled deepened, though now it was with guilt. That wasn’t fair of him. She was just doing her job, and doing it damn well. Word had spread about the stunning new singer at The Dark Forest, and the already popular nightclub had enjoyed a tremendous spike in business all thanks to her. He should probably raise her salary, in fact. She hadn’t even been here that long and she was already gaining fame. So what if some of the men got a bit too eager in expressing their…admiration? As long as they didn’t make a scene and she didn’t complain, they were patrons to shill booze to, nothing more.

_And if she ever expressed any interest back? Do you honestly think you’ll stay all cool and collected then?_

Bog let out faint growl and glared down into the depths of his drink.  _None of that._  He had every right to be protective of his employees.

Especially dangerously beautiful ones who, while playing up the seductive charm, probably had no true idea with how to deal with men who didn’t take no for an answer…

Not that he was nervous for her. It was merely a matter of practicality. She was just some Rich Girl playing with fire, and he didn’t want his business to burn down. That was all. Besides, she was proving herself to be sharp as knife. She had a mouth on her and a temper that could blaze like hellfire, but there was no denying that she had a good head on her shoulders.

_So why was he getting so bent out of shape…?_

Bog sighed and rapped on the bar for another drink, ignoring the raised eyebrow that Stuff had as she poured him the shot while Thang juggled other calls. To hell with it, he could handle his drink just fine.

Another round of cat calling went off as Marianne slid off the piano and strutted to where Elfsly played, arching a delicate brow at the audience as she smoothly slid next to him, her back curving and the soft swell of her chest even more obvious. The plunging neckline of her gown wasn’t helping, and the red of the dress…God, it made her look even more tempting, forbidden, the lush red of thorny roses, of apples that serpents tried to sweet-talk naive girls into eating…

Dammit, he was getting poetic. Maybe he  _had_  had too much to drink…

Marianne finished her song and her sultry smirk melted into an honest grin as the club rang with sincere applause. If she noticed the strong wave of wolf whistles, she didn’t show it. She merely bumped her elbow into Elfsly’s ribs playfully, to which he gave a good-natured groan, and exited the stage in a confident saunter.

She’d join the crowd on the floor in a while, let her hair down, kick off her heels…Bog had noticed, however, that while she dealt with any compliments thrown her way easily enough, she didn’t seem particularly keen on joining in on any of the festivities. She seemed to prefer to nurse a solitary drink while watching over the lay of the nightclub, her eyes warm and thoughtful, seeing something only she could see.

Bog could appreciate the need to drink alone. The crowds here could get to him at times. If there weren’t for the need for him to make an appearance, what with needing to remind all of them who the owner was, he wouldn’t bother coming to the floor at all.

That’s why he disliked the surge of new gents. He had to come out on the floor, had to make sure they were minding the rules.  _Look but don’t even **think** of touching._ He had to make sure she was safe. He had done it for the other singers in the past, but this time…

This time was different, for some reason…

_And you haven’t a **single**  idea what  **that**  reason could be, do you? For Christ sakes, you’re not the first club owner to take a fancy to his singer, you git. Get over it.  _

And now he was arguing with himself. That tore it, he was cutting himself off for the night. 

Bog scowled before sighing as Fairfield swept out from behind the stage door, already intent on the bar. She looked to still be in good spirits, but tired - hell of a show, after all. Her quick brown eyes darted over the room before they found him slouching against the bar top. She didn’t pause in her walk at all, merely arched a slender brow at him.

Bog had to smirk. She always acted like she had something to prove, like she had beef with the whole world, and he wasn’t exempt. Never mind that he was her boss, never mind that he was the most dangerous man by far in this room, in this city. So many people flattered and pleaded and recoiled in fear when faced with the infamous Big Bad Boss Bog King.  _But not her._  The girl had moxie. He liked that, he could admit it.

Still smirking, he raised his glass to her and inclined his head. Her lips quirked in a pleased smirk and her walk up to the bar had a definite jauntiness to it, her hips swinging.

Not that he noticed or anything.

But the table not too far from the bar certainly did, the same area where most of the appreciative shouts and catcalls had come from that night. A new storm of whistles rang out as Marianne made her way past them, along with a few more comments.

“Nice song tonight, honey!”

“Quite a canary they caught for this place, huh?”

“Drink on me, sugar?”

“We can show you a good time, baby…”

Bog gritted his teeth, but Marianne merely rolled her eyes and ignored them, holding her head high as she continued on her way as the table gave mocking whines of disappointment before dissolving into drunken laughter. Bog forced himself to relax. Maybe he had been wrong, maybe she was used to such attention. He knew she was from a high-class background, but men could be asses no matter how blue their blood ran.  

He let out a sigh, frustration and tension gusting out of him. She could handle herself; he needn’t deal with the press and stress of the crowd any longer. Might as well go to the office, get some work done. A new shipment was due by next Thursday, he wanted to go over the numbers to make sure Thang hadn’t loused it up…

Setting his drink down with a sharp  _clink_ , Bog made his way to the back, passing by the idiots who had made so much noise earlier. His legs made his stride naturally long, but he slowed down as he caught their conversation.

“-Sure as hell ain’t gonna see a broad like  _that_ over at your mother’s teas!”

“Damn, not much in the way of tits, but her  _legs_ …I don’t think I’ve seen a finer pair of gams - ”

“She wore the hell out of that little red number, didn’t she, Jimmy?”

“Sure did, but I bet it would look even better hittin’ the floor!”

Raucous laughter erupted at that sodden bit of wit, and Bog’s knuckles cracked, he was clenching his fists so bad.  _How fucking dare they…_

 _Can’t attack a patron,_  he reminded himself, though drink and anger were making it hard to think straight. He had a reputation for mercilessness, not savagery. He could just have Brutus toss ‘em out. Or he could just ignore them. They were new, they’re were just some fucking boys who wanted to play at being men…

Someone ordered “Go get us some more drinks, Charlie!”, and one of their numbers departed for the bar. Bog tried to keep moving, tried to ignore how his slow simmering burn of anger was already threatening to boil over into something more….

“She’s got a hell of a voice, though, huh? Flannigan wasn’t just bumpin’ his gums,  _like warm honey_ …”

One of the men –  _boys_ – rolled his eyes. “She’s got some sweet pipes, sure.” He winked at the table, his grin wicked and his face red from drink. “But I wanna see what  _else_ that sweet mouth can do!”

Bog made an abrupt turn back to the table, his jaw set. _Right._

“Having a good evening, gentlemen?” Bog asked, his face and tone calm as he made his way to the table, the scars on his hands thrown into sharp relief when he clutched the back of the chairs there. He leaned forward in a manner one might call  _“enquiring”_ if one was feeling charitable. If one were actually honest, a more apt description would have been  _“pure bloody menacing”._    

The little group looked up –  _and up and up and up_  – at the towering, grim looking figure, his scarred and severe face, his hat – worn even indoors - cocked over one eye. The one who made the crack about Marianne’s mouth turned around with an ugly sneer on his face. “What’s it to you,  _bub?”_

The rest of the table chortled, and Bog smiled at him coldly.

“Just want to make sure you’re enjoying the club. An owner likes to get honest opinions once in a while.” He nodded to where Marianne was now chatting with Stuff, throwing back her head and laughing. “Certainly sounds…” Bog took his time to pull out a cigarette and light it, taking a dragging inhale before cutting his eyes to them, “…like you enjoyed my singer.”

He noted with no small amount of satisfaction how the blood and swagger drained from their faces as surely as air let out of a balloon.  _It’s the simple things in life…_

One of them actually gulped before trying to answer him. “I – Mister King, I promise you, we meant no offense to your gal –“

“ _Miss Fairfield_ ,” Bog growled quietly, “is the best singer this club has seen in a damn long time. We can all agree on that, right,  _gentlemen?”_

They flinched under the harsh way he laid into the word, and nodded frantically.

“Try giving her due respect.” Bog turned on his heel and left, before giving one more parting shot over his shoulder, his voice rough with contempt. “I hear anymore of  _that_  kind of talk,  _you’re out.”_

Feeling a vicious rush of satisfaction at their pale faces, Bog looked over at the bar one more time to signal to Stuff to cut them off for the rest of the night, and froze.

The man who had left the table was now talking to Marianne, and looking very intent on getting as close to her as possible. She, in turn, was looking very intent on trying to subtly lean away from him. Stuff and Thang were both down at the other end of the bar, besieged by orders, and there was no one else near them.

Bog bared his teeth.  _Goddamn it._  

He growled before once again heading back to the bar, his irritation so great he didn’t even notice how the table of chastened imbibers shrank as he passed by them once more.

The man was larger than her, older, and he looked like he had some good solid muscle on him. Fairfield was fiery as they came, but she was small, slender-limbed for all her curves. He could easily block her from leaving if he wanted to get fresh…

Bog felt a snarl in the back of his throat.  _Not in his club. Not his singer. Not her._

The man –  _Charlie_ , he remembered, they called him Charlie – smiled at Marianne at what he obviously thought was a suave manner, even as his eyes moved over her chest like she was piece of meat. “You sing outside of clubs much, baby-doll?”

“Sometimes,” Marianne replied evenly, ignoring his blatant ogling and merely looking at him with a coolness that verged on glacial. But Bog could tell she was nervous, deeply so. She had every right to be, there were stories about what happened to girls cornered by men who let booze take control.

Bog walked to the end of the bar, keeping a close eye on them, even as his hand twitched to hit, to grab the lout away, even reach for his gun. Just a flash of it would - _no._  He wouldn’t intervene, not just yet. But… _I ain’t gonna let him touch you._

“You sing sweet as sugar, honey.” Charlie’s voice was indeed thick with drink, but Bog didn’t let that particular fact dissuade the powerful wave of annoyance he felt when the lothario leaned closer to Marianne, and she leaned even further back against the bar, her nose wrinkling at was undoubtedly a powerful wave of fumes. “Bet you taste just as sweet, with them lips –“

Bog practically slammed his knuckles onto the bar as he signaled for a drink, and Thang nearly jumped before hastily sliding one to him. Damn cutting himself off, he wasn’t going to listen to this and stay sober -  

But Marianne merely gave him a tight smile, even as her eyes flashed fire. “You’re too kind, but as I said before, I’ll be taking my drink and leaving soon –“

“Aw, baby, let me get it! Dames like you deserve to be treated good. What’s your poison?” Charlie grinned at her before casually angling his body against the bar so that he had her trapped between her barstool and him. He waggled his brows playfully, but his eyes were predatory. “You ever tried a honey cooler?”

 _Oh God, don’t tell him you haven’t._  Fairfield might be smart, but there was some street slang Bog knew a girl with her upbringing simply wouldn’t know.

Marianne’s eyes were wide as she saw how she was trapped, but she glared at him all the same, refusing to give any ground. When she spoke, her tone had slipped into a frosty politeness that was undoubtedly borne from her time in High Society. “I can’t say that I have.” Fire snapped through her voice as she let her cool slip a bit.  _“Sir.”_   

Bog nearly groaned.  _Dammit._

“Hmmm, maybe I can give ya a sample, I bet you’d like it just fine, sweetie. I know I would…” Charlie said, his voice lowering as his eyes did, his gaze raking over her body once more. His smirk was unabashedly lecherous as he stroked a meaty hand down her bare arm, and Marianne recoiled, genuine alarm flashing through her eyes.

Bog’s glass damn near shattered in his grip.  _Get your **fucking**  hands off her her,  **you damned druisire**  _–

Charlie continued to lean closer to Marianne, and her desperate attempt to keep away from him had her nearly arching off her stool, which had the unfortunate side affect of curving her back and making his attention go straight to her bust. He leered at her, hands drifting to her front. “Cute little skirt like you, bet ya gotta know some tricks to get a job at this place, I heard the owner is a real-“  

“A real  _what?”_  Bog snarled quietly behind Charlie. It had taken him all of two strides to get there. He almost hadn’t been aware of moving, the rage coursing through him had blinded him so.

Charlie looked up at the extremely tall, extremely lean, and extremely  _angry_ looking man and his bleary eyes widened.  Marianne’s own eyes did the same, the brilliant hazel trading the glint of fury and fear for shock as she took in the pure sense of murder hanging over the mob boss. She had seen him angry, but  _this_  was –

Charlie seemed to have recovered from his surprise and glared back at Bog, turning to face him and crossing his arms. “Hey, back off, pal, the lady and I were –“

“Sorry I’m late,” Bog cut through, his tone cool as he went to Marianne, casually leaning against the bar next to her. She opened her mouth, undoubtedly about to ask something along the lines of  _“what the hell do you mean, **late**?”_  but froze as Bog looped an arm around her waist and tugged her close to him. Just like any Mob Boss would with a Moll.  _Stay sharp, Fairfield._

Bog continued to glare at the suddenly ashen face of Charlie, even as he felt her inhale at the contact. He deliberately ignored it, just as he ignored how  _warm_ she felt, ignored the contrast of her soft skin and the silky tease of her hair against his fingers…

And he most certainly ignored the soft curve of her hip under that smooth satin, how easy it would be for him to cover it with his whole hand…

Charlie stared at them, his eyes flicking back and forth between them with mounting panic. Bog decided to twist the knife by letting one hand drift up towards Marianne’s neck, where her pulse was fluttering like a butterfly.  _“Wanted ta check on my singer, did ye?_ ” Bog said with soft menace, his accent getting thicker as his anger mounted. His fingers curled down Marianne’s neck in a soft stroke, and he could feel her heart hammering, feel it right beneath his palm, and  _dammit_ , now what was  _he_  playing at? 

Charlie’s eyes grew comically large. “Your singer –  _you mean this is your –?!“_

“My club,” Bog nodded, and grasped Marianne’s waist, possessiveness in every line of his body, and he felt her give another little jolt. “My singer. Ah think ye’ll find we have rules at  _The Dark Forest_ , rules about respectin’ my property.” His already rough voice dropped to a positively alarming growl.  _“An’ Ah bludy well enforce them.”_

He could see Marianne darting a glance up at him before she looked back at Charlie, taking in his pale face, now haggard with fear. Something suddenly relaxed in her, and she leaned into Bog, snuggling up to him, her hands languidly teasing up the lines of his coat, and oh  _dammit_ , this was getting  _far_ too dangerous,  _this was going too far_  –

“He _does_  enforce them,” Marianne told Charlie softly, her eyes large and doe-like as she drank in his petrified state. “I’ve seen it.” The air of faux-innocence dropped, and she leveled a hard stare at him. “I think it’s best if you run home now,  _baby-doll_. Sleep off that booze.” The scorn in her voice was positively acidic, and Bog tried to suppress a grin.

But then a slender hand pulled at his tie, and Bog found himself looking down into large, brown eyes, the same hue as warm honey in the half-light of the club. “What do you think,  _Mister King?”_  Marianne purred up at him, fluttering her dark lashes a bit, tracing a dainty finger along his jaw, her nail scratching at his stubble.  

Bog’s heart gave an unsteady throb.  _Fuck. Just keep going._

“I think…” he murmured, gazing down into her amber depths, before he straightened and leveled a glare at the hapless Charlie once more, “…that it’s getting a touch late.” Bog jerked his head to the main door. “Listen to the lady an’ head home.”

Charlie didn’t need to be prompted twice. Giving them a frantic nod, he bumped and jostled his way through the crowd, ignoring his tablemates in his frantic desire to get away. The rest of the club-goers looked after him in surprise, puzzled by his desperate speed.

Bog snorted.  _Nothing motivates one more than fear of the wrath of a Mob Boss’s Moll done wrong._  He quickly stepped away from Marianne, his bristling possessiveness and menace dropping away to show true concern. “Are ye alright -?”

He stopped as she pointed her finger at him like a spear, her eyes flashing with fury and her mouth tight.

“ _You ever_ ,” she gritted out, stabbing her finger at him, and Bog tried not to recoil at both it and the sheer amount of rage in her voice, “ _ever_ ,  _call me your **property**  again, I will black your eyes._ I will  _kneecap_  you, I’ll – I’ll see your head on a  _stick_  –!“  

“I didn’t mean it!” Bog shot back, surprised and insulted. “How could you think I would – I bloody said it to get him  _away_  from you, you daft –“

 _“I can take care of myself!”_  Marianne said, her voice near a shout.

Bog felt a sharp jolt when he looked at her and saw the genuine look of hurt in her eyes, a glint of wounded pride. God, he hadn’t meant to –

Bog immediately stepped back further, away from her, a strange guilt clawing at him now. Marianne must have seen some of it on his face, for she seemed to collect herself, glancing up into his eyes before exhaling hard and looking away.

“I can take care of myself,” she muttered once more, almost to herself, then glared up at him. “So I don’t need any Mob Boss pulling crap like that, pretending I’m his  _Moll,_ of all things, so that idiots like that won’t bother me only when he’s not around! I don’t need rumors starting up about me! I don’t need people saying that I got this gig because they think that  _I_ – with  _you –!”_

“Whoa whoa whoa, hold on now,” Bog held up his hands in a show of surrender, a gesture that might have been mocking if not for the serious earnestness of his expression and tone. “I didn’t mean to – I would have done it for any dame, it’s not ‘cause I think you can’t - I  _know_  you can handle it.” He made sure to look her straight in the eye. “ _I know you can.”_

She gazed up at him, looking torn between wanting to storm at him some more and being thrown by his undeniable sincerity. She finally gave a slow nod, crossing her arms in front of her protectively. “Just…just let me take care of myself next time, okay?” Her voice got a faintly bitter edge to it. “I’m used to it.”

Bog nodded, wishing there was a way to reassure her more. “Okay.”

Marianne looked at him once more and softened a bit. “I…you surprised me with that, acting all…” she flushed inexplicably, “…you know,  _possessive_.”

Bog flushed a bit himself. “It’s how people expect Mob Bosses to act…” he muttered, scratching a bit at his neck.  _How they expect me to act, want me to act…_

Marianne titled her head at that. “I bet that gets tiring,” she said suddenly, her eyes looking at him with a thoughtfulness Bog had never seen before, at least not aimed at  _him_. His heart gave a little jolt.  _Focus._

“Yeah, s’ppose it does…” he mumbled. He then thought back to her attempt at playing the Moll to his Mob Boss and snorted. “Nice touches with your acting, by the way. Laid it on a bit thick, didn’t ye?” Not that he could complain, remembering the slide of her hands over his chest, her fingers grasping his tie to tug him down to look at her…

“It worked, didn’t it?” Marianne shot back crossly, even though her cheeks were now pink for reasons that had nothing to do with rouge.

“Yeah, it did.” Bog looked away, and they both seemed to squirm a bit in the silence that followed. Bog coughed and then spoke without looking at her. “Um, you won’t have to worry about that again. I mean, I look after anybody who works here, but – it’s not personal. It’s – I’ll let you take care of yourself next time.”

Marianne nodded briefly, her cheeks still faintly pink. “Thanks.”

“But if it comes down to it,” Bog said despite himself, and blue eyes met hazel in a frank and serious gaze, “I ain’t gonna let anyone touch you.”

Marianne looked at him, her eyes slowly flickering over his face, and he hoped she could see how he meant what he was saying, what he was  _really_ saying.  _It’s not about me thinking you can’t do it._

She looked away, her cheeks glowing once more for some reason. “Alright,” she said softly.   

Bog nodded once more, not sure what to do with himself, and went to walk away. He suddenly remembered what he had planned to tell her before all the drama of the evening. “Look, um…I’ve been thinking, and, uh, I’ve decided to – I’m gonna raise your paycheck.”

Her eyes widened before narrowing. “Is this some half-assed attempt at soothing ruffled feathers?”

He rolled his eyes. “It’s a way of saying you’re doing a damn good job here, Fairfield. I don’t hold anybody’s tender feelings that close to flash money around.”

She still looked surprised, but a half grin began to tease at her mouth. “Well…thanks.”

He should have turned away, but that little shadow of a smile had him staying there, looking at her, settled next to the bar like she was meant to be there, this Rich Girl with her amber eyes and tough and tender air. The words left him before he even realized. “There’s no shame in getting some help every now and then, Fairfield.”

She looked away, her brow once again furrowing. “There is when it’s because everyone thinks you’re helpless.” She muttered.

Bog let out a dry laugh. “I could call you many things, Tough Girl, but  _helpless_  ain’t one of them.” He smirked at her and walked away, but not before he saw the genuine, gentle smile that crossed her lips at that. His chest gave a queer, inexplicable pain at the sight.

Bog shook it off and continued to his office. Some paperwork, then bed.

The ghost sensation of smooth satin warmed by even softer skin came back to him, overwhelming him all over –

Bog sighed. Maybe another drink before bed.

* * *

The next performance she wore a black dress, the same beaded number she wore her first night here, the jet beads making her glitter in the spotlight. If she was roses and apples the night before, now it was as if she was wearing the night-sky. Her makeup seemed smokier too, her lips painted an even darker shade of red, wine and blood instead of roses…

 _“Why don’t you do right…  
_ _Like some other men do…”_

From his usual place in the back of the club, Bog nearly sighed, exasperated. Sinking into their drinks, the club-goers were watching Marianne perform, all of them staring up at her as she slinked across the stage, as if she was weaving a spell. Lust and heat hung over the club like perfume, and it was her song that was fanning the flames.

Bog, still nursing a bit of a hangover from all his drinking last night, nearly growled. She knew it too, didn’t she? Black instead of red, more makeup, and now she was performing an even more sultry song.  _What is she playing at, especially after the last time…?_

Marianne tossed her head, her locks glimmering and her eyes smoldering out over the crowd as she continued her song.

 _“Get out of here,  
_ _Get me some money too…”_

She curved herself around the piano, and then threw a glance to where she knew Bog usually sat. Her look wasn’t any kind of sultry, but nonetheless full of meaning.

 _Goddamn, she was doing it on purpose._  Proving a point to him, showing him that she wasn’t gonna hold back just because of one bad brush with some louse. She would wear what she wanted to and sing what she wanted to and do as she damn well pleased - she wasn’t gonna be afraid. Bog’s laugh was almost more of an exhale, short and sharp, but he couldn’t keep an admiring grin off of his face.  _You’ve got spirit, Tough Girl._

She saw it, and her mouth that had been pursed in a smolder quirked in a sly smirk. He could have sworn her eyes sparkled even more with mischief as she moved under the spotlight, twisting sensually to the songs smooth slide of melody. Several men in the audience actually groaned as she sank against the side of the stage, sliding down seductively. 

Bog’s grin faded at that, and he felt his head twinge again.  _Still don’t have to like that, though._  

Marianne finished up the song, crooning out the last note, and she strutted away from the audience, her smothered grin the only acknowledgment of their enthusiastic applause. Bog looked over the crowd and smirked.  Couldn’t really blame her, could he? She proved her point, and brought in another hell of a crowd. What with the haul he would net from tonight, he was gonna rest easy for the first time in weeks…

Stuff and Thang hurried to his table as the crowd started to move to the bar. After numerous dropped glasses and shattered bottles of dear booze and spirits, Bog had finally been convinced of the wisdom of finding new bartenders to take over. As of now, they were underlings who would continue to report to him.

“Brutus says that Roland’s back in town, Boss. Says he’s still gonna go after the waterfront, but Brutus feels we need to keep an eye back the shacks we have out in the woods –“

“Our runners say that they’ll stay loyal, though –“

“We’ll see how loyal they stay once Greensin starts flashing money around,” Bog growled to himself, though it was mostly for show. His runners had stayed with him so far, weathered other tempting offers. Besides, Roland Greensin was all flash, no substance, and he was getting a reputation for backstabbing. Bog knew it was only a matter of time for Greensin’s double-dealings to catch up with him; all he had to do was wait and guard his cards.

A bout of laughter erupted from the bar, and the three of them turned to see a bunch of clearly inebriated men howl with laughter as a girl ran way, clutching at her skirt and blushing hot and humiliated. Bog growled. One of them was the same lout who had made the comment about Marianne’s mouth. And now he was going after other females. 

Bog jerked a thumb in his direction. “Thang, get him out of here.”

Thang turned and his big eyes went even wider as he took in the brutish build of the man. “Um, I’m not sure if I could handle him, sir –“

Stuff shot him annoyed look. “Then get Brutus –“

“Brutus was gonna double back down to the docks, remember!”

Bog nearly snarled. “For Christ sakes, I’ll deal with it - ” He went to leave his chair before his heart gave a nauseas jolt.  _“Hellfire.”_

Marianne was heading to the bar, looking as gorgeously sinful as ever, right past the drunkards. Dammit, and he had promised not to interfere – but it was for someone else –  _but would she know that-?_

“HEY, SWEETHEART!” The man bellowed at Marianne, his grin wide and his eyes tracking the sway of her hips. “Nice singing tonight, kitten.” He leered at her. “How’s about you an’ me an’ the boys find some new  _music_  to make, huh?”

Thang let out a scandalized little gasp, and Stuff narrowed her eyes at the cretin, obviously unimpressed. Bog tried to keep his anger on a leash and merely cracked his neck, scowling.  _Let her handle it –_

Marianne only spared him a cool glance. “Sorry, boys, I’m a solo act,” she tossed over her shoulder as she walked past them to fix her own drink, grabbing the whiskey bottle. “I don’t  _do_ duets, ask anyone.”

Stuff and Thang both laughed before glancing guiltily at their Boss, but Bog was nearly grinning. She was mouthy one, no denying it, but when it wasn’t directed at him, it was actually quite –

The man snorted. “High society or from the gutter, dames are all the same. Tryn’ to act as cool as ya please when some fella tries to give ‘em an honest compliment.” He grinned at his cronies and nodded back at Marianne, who had just finished making her drink before sauntering past them once more. He raised his voice. “Think they’re such  _hot stuff_ , when all it takes is a tap to keep them in line.”

With that, he leaned forward and gave a hearty  _SMACK_  to Marianne’s rear, causing his pals to double over with laughter.

Bog was halfway across the room before he was even aware of it, seeing red, reaching for his gun,  _ready to shoot the hands off of that son of a bitch_  –

Marianne moved so fast she almost was a blur. Dropping her drink to the floor where it shattered, she grabbed the neck of the heavy whiskey bottle she had just used from the bar and swung it  _ **HARD**  _across the man’s still laughing face.

Whiskey and glass and blood splattered across the bar as the force of the blow shattered the bottle and made the man hit the bar and then the floor like a ton of bricks. The crowds shrieks and gasps of surprise faded into shocked silence as Marianne stood over the groaning man, clutching the shattered bottle in her hand like a knife, her face calm.

Stuff and Thang gave identical gasps when they finally caught up with their Boss. Bog could only stare.  ** _Holy buggering hell._**

Marianne dropped the broken neck to the floor with a contemptuous flick of her wrist, and stepped over the man, now whimpering pathetically in pain, the train of her dress trailing over him. She walked past the stunned crowd, her head held high and her air as poised as ever.

She came to a halt in front of Bog and Stuff and Thang, who all looked at her with wide eyes.

“You can take the damage expenses for the whiskey out of my paycheck,” Marianne said calmly, flicking a bit of hair out of her eyes. “I believe that will cover it.”

Bog nodded dumbly.

She eyed him, and then betrayed a small smile. “Told you I could take care of myself, didn’t I?” 

Bog nodded once more, and then began to smile too. There was no denying the sheer admiration in his empathetic words.  _“I believe you.”_

Marianne took in his admiring expression with a pleased tilt of her head, and her small smile blossomed into a grin of satisfaction and pleasure. She then turned smartly on her heel and sashayed to the stage door, where her dressing room awaited her. The crowd before her parted like courtiers before a queen. 

Bog watched her go before idly snapping his fingers at Stuff and Thang, who both sprang into action, moving the crowd at the bar back and calling for other employees to clean up the glass, move that body to the curb,  _step to it_ –

Bog ignored them and swore softly to himself.  _Amazing._ One hit from her, and he had been down. Those slender arms were a hell of a lot more powerful than he would have ever thought…

Bog shook his head, grinning to himself still. The sight of Marianne Fairfield, dressed to the nines and standing over a pool of whiskey and blood and shattered glass, walking like a goddamn princess from the destructive retribution she had wrought, was an image he was  _never_  going to forget. She was never gonna have to fend of overeager admirers again, that was for sure…

Bog let out a huff of laughter before making his way to his office. This whole time he had worried over Marianne Fairfield being able to handle herself…

_Now I got to wonder if I can bloody well handle her._

**Author's Note:**

> The first song Marianne sings here is the classic “Makin’ Whoopee” – the famous scene from "The Fabulous Baker Boys" heavily inspired the first part of this fanfic. Watch Michelle Pfeiffer sing looking like *that*, and you’ll understand why everyone is in such a state over Marianne in this fic…
> 
> The second son, gosh…it's *so* obvious. But I just had to have Marianne Jessica Rabbit-ing it at one point! I now invite all of you to watch said scene and imagine Marianne and Bog in Jessica and Eddie’s place…
> 
> Man, practically none of the songs I use in this series are from the 1930's. I'm playing fast and loose with historical accuracy here, I apologize!


End file.
